


We Both Knew It Would Always End This Way

by doodlegirll



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Impending Execution, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Prison, Tearful Goodbyes, Valet!Carlos, Very Romeo & Juliet Ending, Wealthy!Cecil, Will violently rip your heart from your chest and flush it down the toilet to the underworld, people continue to tell me that this fic will emotionally destroy you for a little while, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlegirll/pseuds/doodlegirll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What should he be ashamed of, what did he have to lose, when he was about to lose everything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Both Knew It Would Always End This Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mixxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Strange Captivation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061436) by [Mixxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxy/pseuds/Mixxy). 



> I wrote this story for Mixxy, who came up with the original story that it’s based off of (titled Strange Captivation, and it is BRILLIANT), so honestly, I own nothing here. I wrote this as pure speculation on my part, because I was inspired by a conversation that was had on Mixxy’s tumblr (floating-cats.tumblr.com) about homosexuality in Victorian Britain, and how those accused of engaging in homosexual acts/relationships could suffer severe consequences, and how Carlos, as a poor man of color, would suffer more greatly than Cecil, the son of a viscount in high British society. And, because I have a penchant for putting characters in these sort of situations, my mind instantly went to secret meetings and heart-wrenching moments.
> 
> Still, I hope it can be enjoyed! Thank you, Mixxy, for allowing me the opportunity to write a fanfiction based on your fanfiction! It has been an honor, and I hope that I did your story justice. <3
> 
> (Title taken from Five Finger Death Punch’s “M.I.N.E. (Always End This Way)”)
> 
> WARNING: This fanfiction is set in the Victorian era, and deals with period-typical racism. Unfortunately, the Victorians were racists as hell. So I apologize. I just wanted to set a warning here because I know that racism can be extremely triggering. Be aware, my loves. <3

We Both Knew It Would Always End This Way

A WTNV Victorian AU

By doodlegirll

Original Story Concept by Mixxy

 

 

...oOo...

 

The cold rush of air bit into Cecil’s face as he slowly made his way forward, towards the dark structure before him, rain pelting at his stinging eyes. He clutched the bundle he held in his hands closer to his chest as he pulled his coat tighter around his body.

“Go.” The voice of his companion whispered as a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. “You do not have much time before we are missed.”

Cecil nodded, and swallowed the bile he could taste rising in the back of his throat, and he ventured further. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Dana, who remained hidden within the shadows of the alleyway near the carriage, and for a moment, he considered asking her to accompany him, but quickly expelled the notion.

Prisons were no place for a young lady such as Dana.

Prisons were no place for a young viscount such as himself.

Prisons were no place for a man as wonderful as the one trapped behind the looming, cold stone walls.

Cecil took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as he raised his hand and quickly rapped against the door before him four quick times. After a moment, the door was quickly thrust open, and Cecil was met with the tired face of Earl Harlan, Cecil’s boyhood friend, and nocturne jail keeper under the employment of his uncle, Theodore Williams.

“Cecil.” He greeted his friend, stepping aside to allow the young viscount entry. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Earl.” Cecil muttered as he gratefully stepped into the dark jailhouse from the freezing rain outside. There was a moment of silence as Earl replaced the locks on the door behind them, and dimmed the gas lamp nearest them.

“Listen, Cecil, you don’t have much time.” Earl said as he turned back to face his friend, setting a hand on his shoulder firmly. “If anyone found out I was assisting you in this act, I could be fined heavily for aiding in criminal activity, and my uncle could lose his credibility.”

Cecil nodded. “I understand.” He said, casting his eyes downward towards the dirty floor. “I cannot express my gratitude for what you’re doing for me. I am eternally within your debt.”

Earl shook his head.

“You owe me not a thing, Mister Palmer.” He said in a low voice. “Only the promise that you will overcome this, in God’s holy name.”

Cecil opened his mouth to argue, to tell Earl that he was wrong, that there would _never_ be overcoming the pain that swelled throughout his entire body, striking him almost immobile and unable to form so much a coherent sentence without his thoughts straying elsewhere and bringing him to tears once more. So instead he closed his mouth, setting his lips into a thin line, and nodded.

“I will try.”

Earl gave him a curt nod, before he removed his hand and gestured down the hall.

“This way.” He said.

The jailhouse was a very small establishment, needing only cells to accommodate any apprehended subjects within any given period of time, and without a fenced courtyard out back to allow for more room should the need arise, and Cecil only knew this from his visits to Earl here throughout his childhood while his Uncle Teddy tended to business. Earl pointed him in the direction of a dimly lit room with only four cells fitted into the walls, and it did not take Cecil long to locate the only locked barred door, a dark figure huddled within the farthest corner on the cold, damp cobblestone floor. Cecil, unable to stand it any longer, rushed to the bars and threw himself at them, one hand wrapped around the cold metal.

“Carlos?” He called softly into the dark cell at the figure. “Carlos, please, it’s me. Please, I have little time.”

“Cecil?”

Ah, that voice. That voice like oak wood burning, like soft caramel fresh from the candy store, like hot tea on a cold autumn’s day, so rich and smooth. That voice that Cecil had not been sure he would be offered the chance to hear again.

The hunched figure of Carlos in the corner sat up, standing, albeit awkwardly, before making his way forward into the dim light of the room, slowly, as though movement required an extreme amount of effort.

Cecil couldn’t contain the small gasp of breath as Carlos came into the light. Dark bruises marred his dark skin, his entire face swollen, his lip caked with blood. Dirt smudged the edges of his torn clothes, and his hair, usually so well kept, was disheveled, and a faint stubble had begun to form along his jaw. His eyes, usually so bright and warm, were dull and despondent, resigned to the fate Cecil had tried so hard to change.

 “Oh, Carlos,” Cecil whispered. “I am _so sorry.”_

He leant heavily against the bars that separated them, and closed his eyes tightly, fighting against the tears that burnt at the corners; how could he meet the other man’s gaze when it was he who had put him here in the first place?

Strong, calloused fingers grasped his chin and gently raised his head. Cecil opened his eyes, expecting to be met with scorn and accusation. Instead, he was surprised to be met with a warm, loving smile as Carlos’s thumb wiped away a stray tear.

“Cecil,” he said, concern etched into his voice like stone. “What are you doing here? At such a late hour as this?”

Cecil suddenly remembered the parcel, and he slipped it through the bars into Carlos’s grasp, his hands shaking.

“I brought this for you.” He said. “I-I didn’t know if they were f-feeding you, or if they’d given you a blanket. I-It isn’t much, but it’s what I could m-manage.”

His voice was dangerously close to cracking, and Cecil feared that if it did, he would as well.

Carlos held the small bundle firmly, running his fingers over it, managing a small smile.

“Thank you.” He said. “Cecil, thank you.”

Cecil swallowed. “It is the least I can do.” He said quietly. He shook his head and held back a sob. “Carlos, I am so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Cecil.” Carlos reached out again and laid his hand on Cecil’s shoulder, squeezing, and Cecil noticed that several of his fingers were tied together with strips of cloth, presumably from the hem of his shirt. The small pressure was enough to ground Cecil back in reality, in the fact that his time was running out. “Don’t apologize. This is not your fault.”

Cecil shook his head. “But it is!” He said ardently. “It’s _my_ fault we were caught. You warned that I…that I was being too loud and then…” He shook his head again, unable to finish the thought.

“It was likely that we could have been caught at any moment, no matter the precautions we took.” Carlos said. “It is just as much my fault as any. I am only thankful that I got to see you again.”

Cecil sniffed, and took in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried. I tried to reason with Father, tried to convince him to lessen the charge, tried to tell him that I was just as much to blame, that if you were to be imprisoned then I should as well.” He shuddered, remembering the sting of the slap against his cheek, and then looked at Carlos, and the bruises that adorned his face; the strike against him had left no mark, and yet Carlos could barely see from the swelling around his left eye.

“I’m not sorry that you are free and I am not.” Carlos said as he moved his hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek. “It is a relief knowing that even when I cease to be in this world, you will be able to continue with your life, that you will still be allowed to marry Ms. Adams and have children and find a way to be happy.”

“No.” Cecil sobbed, leaning his forehead against the cold metal bars, reaching a hand up to touch Carlos’s on his cheek. “ _No,_ Carlos, no. I-I can’t…I can’t move on with my life knowing t-that I should b-be here with you, that I should not be able to go unpunished while you pay with your life for loving me, not when I love you just as passionately, just as fervently. _You_ make me happy, Carlos, and I…”

He collapsed, his knees giving out from beneath him, and he sank to the cold stone floor, his face buried in his hands as he finally allowed himself to let it all go as the tears poured from his eyes, his body shaking. What should he be ashamed of, what did he have to lose, when he was about to lose everything?

Strong arms came out from the bars and hands grasped his wrists, gently lowering Cecil’s fingers from his face. Carlos’s face was etched with concern as he knelt on the other side of the bars, the parcel Cecil had brought him discarded beside him. 

“I don’t regret a moment that we spent together.” Carlos said, his voice steady and clear, as though he were defending his case in front of a jury, which he, a man of color accused of seducing the son of a viscount, had not been offered. “Not a moment, Cecil, do you hear me? If given the chance, I would go back and do it all again, even if it always brought me here.”

“Do you not fear what is to happen?!” Cecil cried. “You are to die, Carlos, for loving me, and I am to continue to live with no more than a scandal to my name. You will not even be given a grave, a stone to mark your existence, to remind all those that are to come that you once lived, that you were once loved! Does that not terrify you, Carlos?!”

Carlos gave Cecil’s hands a squeeze, and Cecil wished, for the thousandth time in the few minutes they had been reunited, that Carlos could hold him, if only for a moment, one last time. “God is merciful, Cecil. I do not fear that He will grant me as He promised.”

“God is not merciful!” Cecil spat through his tears. “If God were merciful, this would not be happening!”

The other man shook his head. “Do not blame God. Blame humanity for being unforgiving.”

“Oh, Carlos.” Cecil leant his head forward again, and Carlos did the same, and their foreheads touched, just barely, and Cecil reached out and ran his hand through Carlos’s hair as Carlos’s hand came to sit at the base of his neck. “ _Carlos._ ”

“When they come for me tomorrow, I will not be frightened.” Carlos whispered, and Cecil could feel his breath against his lips, and he remembered the way Carlos had tasted as those lips had brushed his own, had captured them in rapt passion, had said hushed endearments in the dark of Cecil’s bedroom in the middle of the night as his warm hands had roved over Cecil’s body with such care, such tenderness, that Cecil can still feel the tingle it left upon his skin like a brand even now. “I will remember you, and how you made me believe that I am so much more than I ever thought that I could be, how you made my life bearable and worth living.”

Cecil felt as though his heart were forcing its way up his throat, how it was beating so erratically against his ribcage that surely it would break away at the bones and expel itself from his body. He felt as though a knife were being driven repeatedly into his chest, as though a noose were being tightened around his neck, and his mind went, with stunning clarity, to the image of Carlos in the morning light standing on the platform of the gallows at the courthouse, and he felt sick. He fought back a whimper.

“I will remember you, and I will not fear what comes after.” Carlos continued. “I’ll not fear what may lay beyond this world, and I will go wherever loving you will take me without an ounce of remorse. I mourn only for the time that has been lost for us.”

His lips found Cecil’s, albeit awkwardly considering the thick bars between them, and Cecil felt himself melt into them as he had so many times before, back when all had been right and he had felt, in those moments, as though nothing could possibly come between him and the man before him. Carlos tasted as he always had – of honey sweetened tea and cinnamon – but this time it was sullied with the bitter tang of blood, but Cecil scarcely cared as he relished the moment he had.

“I love you.” Carlos whispered against his lips as he pulled away. “Please don’t fear for me; I will await you on the other side of this realm until a day can come when we shall be together again.”

Cecil’s breath caught in his throat, and he squeezed Carlos’s wrist tightly.

“I love you, too, Carlos.” He whispered back.

“Promise me that you will try to move on.” Carlos said. “When all of this is over, promise me that you will carry on and live your life to the greatest extent possible. That is all I ask of you.”

“Carlos, I—”

“ _Promise me,_ Cecil.” Carlos’s voice cracked, just a fissure, as his brown eyes met Cecil’s blue, a desperate plea written in his own blood across them.

“I-I promise.” Cecil stammered, but he knew, from the deepest depths of his heart, that he was lying.

“Mister Palmer?” Earl’s voice broke through the silence, and Cecil jumped, having for a moment forgotten that he was even there, as he had not followed Cecil into the room, allowing him one last private moment with his former valet and lover. “Time is short. You must leave.”

Cecil nodded. “A moment more, Mister Harlan.” He said, surprised at how steady his voice was despite the way it had broken not minutes before.

Earl gave him a curt nod. “A moment and nothing more.” Earl said. “I will alert Ms. Adams’ driver to come to the door.”

Cecil turned his attention back to Carlos, and he grabbed his hands in his. Carlos’s dark skin contrasted starkly against Cecil’s, and Cecil could not help but be reminded of the printed words against the whiteness of paper: Carlos was his words, and Cecil the paper. Carlos had written a sonnet so pure and wonderful across Cecil’s being, had left such a prominent mark on Cecil’s story, that he knew that there would never be another moment in his life when he would not be able to be completely clear of mars again.

“I will remember you.” He said shakily. “I will remember you, my Carlos.”

Carlos smiled. “And I you, my Cecil.” He said Cecil’s name one last time before he raised Cecil’s hands to his lips, just as he had beneath the mistletoe that Christmas that felt like a lifetime before. “Do not fear for me, for I do not fear for where I am to go, so long as I have the hope of being again with you one day.”

Fresh tears made their way down Cecil’s face as he touched his forehead against Carlos’s one last time. He could not bring himself to say goodbye, for he knew that if he did, he would not be able to leave.

So instead, he allowed Carlos to gently lift him by his elbows to his feet, unsteadily, and he squeezed the other man’s hands one last time as he took one last look into the brown eyes he loved so much before he pulled away, and hastily fled the room, not even daring a glance backwards as he did so.

He thanks Earl, in as steady a voice as he could, for his services once more, and shook his hand. Earl gave him a sympathetic look as he opened the door for him to step into the inky darkness of the night.

“God be with you, Cecil.” Earl said lowly. “May you be at peace.”

Cecil nodded, and climbed into the cab of the carriage, where Dana awaited him. She reached out and brushed her hand against his as he gazed out the window into the night, but she said nothing.

Nothing more could be said, when nothing more could ever hope to be felt.

 

...oOo...

 

The next morning, after the message that the sentence against the former valet known as Carlos had been carried, and his body properly taken from the gallows and placed in an unmarked grave had been delivered, the housekeeper would go to rouse the young Mister Cecil from his room upon the request of his parents.

And when she entered, she would find the young viscount not at his desk scribbling in the pages of his journal, or with his nose buried in a book, or gazing from the window as he was known to do, but instead curled beneath the sheets of his bed, his pillows moist from the tears shed throughout the night, a book on the science of species clutched tight against his chest.

And when she went to shake him and get him ready for the coming day, she would find him cold and unmoving, his chest not rising nor falling, his pulse still.

And she would wail and call for someone to call immediately for a doctor, for someone to help the young master, but it would be far too late.

For in the very moment that Carlos had fallen to the gallows that morning for loving another man, Cecil’s heart had given in to the torment and pain, and had ceased its function.

That morning had claimed two lovers, who had taken each other’s hands and walked into the promise of a new existence together, as they were, and as they loved, without the threat of separation between them.

Together they had loved, together they had fallen, and together they had gone.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> According to Mixxy, Cecil is seventeen, and Carlos is twenty one. Thought that might help some set the scene a little!
> 
> It was an honor writing this! Hope you enjoyed! (And cried, because I BAWLED like a baby!)


End file.
